Starcraft: Will of the Universe
by Herr Doktor
Summary: The universe can't be comprehended by anyone or anything, mostly because it is what we are made of, and the thing we least understand is ourselves. A ghost and a dark templar seek to work in the past, and meanwhile another psionic finds himself in a world not full of lies, but half-truths.
1. Chapter 1: Welcome to the Universe

AN: For those who are curious about the nuke dropped on my stories, don't. You'll see a similar message on another story I'm going to spit out soon. By way of explanation: My previous stories were all poorly-written, intermittent, jagged, broken, blahblah things. I'm going to give all of it a more serious go, starting with the wonderful world of starcraft, because it's that darned amazing. Years ago, I started on a starcraft story, and I'm drawing inspiration from that now. If you're still here after how turbulent everything has been, thank you, and suggestions on improving my writing would be appreciated.

**Scientific Research Vessel **_**Septimus 4**_**: 2440**

** Distress Signal Activated: **Template received. Constructing SOS signal…Please wait while the system attempts to establish a connection to the Confederate control stations. You are not within a confederate controlled-sector. Connection should take approximately one hour. Please wait….

**SOS SIGNAL DEPLOYED: **Science Vessel Septimus 4 requesting immediate assistance. Unknown space-faring life forms in vicinity. Alien life-form status: Hostile. Severe damage to hull. Number of personnel onboard: 17. Requesting Immediate Assistance.

**SOS STATUS: Elapsed time: 24 hrs since signal sent. Awaiting Response.**

** 40 hours. Awaiting Response.**

** 50 hours. Awaiting Response.**

** 60 hours. Awaiting Response.**

** SOS STATUS:** Futile. No connection has been established for 60 hours. All onboard personnel are to assume they will receive no assistance and act accordingly. The confederacy thanks you for your service.

**Space Station v42 Deployment: 3 Years: Automated System Report**

** Purpose: Relay Information**

** Reason: Automated Status Report Due to Lack of Human Status Reports for over 48 hours/Lack of human response and/or activity.**

**Number of personnel detected 48 hours ago: four**

** Number of personnel detected at present: zero**

All onboard scanners have detected organic life-forms, but no human activity has been detected for two days. Scanners are not sophisticated enough to identify whether or not life-forms are humans. Standard scanners are offline do to unrepaired unknown physical damage.

Unknown organic material was recently brought onboard when it was 'found splattered against the side' –Chemist Jeremy Kfinster. Further reports have not been filed. System awaiting instructions from command….

**Korhal: Control Tower 424: Status: Disabled**

This is Colonel Max. I am leaving this report in text, owing to the fact half the damned tower has fallen down already. I'm going to store this in a safe. I'd better explain the past few days. For about a month we've been negotiating with the Confederates. The local factories are producin' weapons that the confederate people want. Insane prices. Flights back and forth. One day, this dropship comes in but never leaves. It explodes in the dock, and this green stuff covers all the walls. In case you're not from Tarsonis, we're a clean, careful, happy planet.

A couple of men in sealed suits went in to scrub it up, but we were stupid enough to dump the stuff in a trash processor. Four days ago the trash processing factory shuts down 'cause half the workers have gone mad and started attacking each other. What's more, they've got claws and weird stuff growing out of them.

We've been fighting this ever since. The science-geeks at the lab say it's some sort of extremely virulent alien stuff-doesn't mean a damned thing to me. They say the only sure way to prevent spread is to completely destroy everything in the vicinity. Problem is, we're here. Gotta say, those science boys aren't as weak as I thought. They said they've rigged high-power explosives. Strong enough to incinerate flesh and reduce bone to nothing. It's the only way, they said. To prove they meant it, a couple of them wrote letters to families and blew themselves up. Sounds-messed up, but we don't know how else to stop the infection. We're all of us huddled in a room right now, with the explosives everywhere. The geeks made a metal safe that should withstand the blast. We'll stick our letters in there….

I can't believe it's come to this. We've got the infected people in another room with more bombs. One of them is holding an activator.

I'm proud of my men-they all came along quietly, no fuss. A soldier shouldn't cry, but I ain't gonna yell at the ones I see crying right now. Hopefully it's just some random thing and this all end here. Anyone who reads this, well, I don't have anything else to say. The explosives are set up in all the other buildings. In about five minutes, all of us in a mile radius go to kingdom come. Bye, I guess.

**Mar-Sara: Today**

The ghost stood silent on the edge of the cliff. The cliff was only one of many, but any planet would have a lot of cliffs if it had been bombarded by alien lasers. This ghost, amazingly, had not been psionically inhibited, nor was he under the control of any man. That's an unrelated story, though. The ghost watched as in the crater he overlooked, a couple of zerglings scuffled.

Most researchers agreed that the zerg were all devoid of individual will and emotion. This is because they are all under the control of the hive mind, their brains containing only the capacity to obey. However, others say that due to their nature as living beings, and the fact that the majority were originally other species, they may retain certain instincts.

The two zerglings were scratching and biting at each other in an almost cat-like fashion. The ghost considered just shooting them, but with the same mild fascination that drove the ancient Greeks to create the coliseums, the ghost watched the two fight.

The two had probably come out of the same egg. They were identical, as most zerg are, save one had slightly larger wings. The radioactive dust they 'played' in created plumes of brown and red whenever one fell over.

A couple of minutes later, the two were still biting and scratching, neither gaining the advantage, and the ghost decided he was bored. Raising his rifle, he took two quick shots-both dead-on. The two zerglings collapsed in the dust.

"Would rather see two ultralisks fight. That would be fun," the ghost murmured to nobody in particular.

Up in the sky, a bright ball of light signaled the entry of a dropship.

"I never understand why they keep trying to build in zerg territory. It's not worth dying just to nab a couple of minerals," the ghost said, once again to seemingly nobody.

This time, though, a deep, resonant voice replied, "True. I feel that perhaps terran greed is stronger even then the will to live."

"You're a protoss-greed is something rarely seen amongst your people," the ghost answered, adopting a more formal tone.

"Not so-the tribes war over petty things. It irritates me. Also, why did you wait so long before shooting the zerglings?"

The ghost snorted. "Instinct probably. Ancient terrans used to have coliseums where men would fight to the death for the entertainment of others. It is something violent in us, I suppose."

_"Everything _about terrans is violent."

"Come now-that is not true. 99% is not all."

"This must be what terrans call sarcasm."

The ghost sighed, and looked out over the dead world. "Enough of this. Let's find the artifact and leave." The ghost took a running jump and vaulted over the edge of the cliff. His invisible companion did the same. As they neared the ground, some two hundred or three hundred feet down, they both glowed briefly, twisted in mid-air, and landed neatly on the ground. "Great. It worked. Last time I did that I broke my left leg."

"You will become accustomed to it overtime."

"How do you become accustomed to leaping off a cliff?" The ghost asked, stretching and looking at the rocks they were aiming for.

"Great practice and patience."

"Right."

**Scientific Research Vessel **_**Tyrone III**_

"This is Miles Cyrus, captain of the wonderful Tyrone III. We've just found a floating science vessel with the confederate mark. The hull is damaged, but the words 'Septimus' are visible on the surface. We're sending in four men to extricate materials. The lights are still on, and it is presumed that the battery is functioning. Any occupants are presumably dead. No life signals."

**Thirty Minutes have Elapsed:**

"This is Miles Cyrus. The crew found two men with heartbeats. The vessel's computer logs show it has been drifting for years. It is not known how these two men are still breathing. They've been brought onboard, and a couple of guys are running them through the scanners soon."

**Dominion Control Tower 442, ten minutes later:**

"We just lost contact with Tyrone III."

AN: Those who are curious: 2440 is a year after the zerg reportedly became aware of the terran's existence. (Start of story) It seemed to me a reasonable time for them to start bothering people. Y'know, ending their lives and overrunning planets and all. Not much.


	2. Chapter 2: Doctors

AN: TheThroneLord: Thanks! I'll try to keep the story on a straight path. You're right-I shifted focus too much.

**A Planet-Somewhere in the Galaxy:**

"Wake up! If ya don't get up soon the anesthetic will kill you!"

The man blinked awake, and immediately noticed he couldn't feel his body. It was actually a pleasant sensation. He was aware, but there was the heavenly sensation of drifting, and non-being. No pain, stress, or anything. His mind was blissfully fuzzy and empty. There was no thought, no perception, just euphoria.

Two hands roughly gripped his shoulders and yanked him out of bed. Then these two evil hands started marching him around the room. "Get moving!"

"Find fish book!" the man heard himself splutter. He tried to make sense of what he just said, but failed to do so. His head was still full of fog, and he tried to sort through the intermittent memories flashing into his head.

"Ah, don't worry, your brain will be working properly in a few minutes. Now get yourself going, or the anesthetic will kill you!" the gruff voice from earlier growled. "March!"

As he was forcefully shoved around the room, his mind came back to him, and so did his body. Immediately he felt very heavy, as though he'd never had a body or felt the effects of gravity before. He instinctively hated these irritating hands that were moving him about. These hands had gloves on, and the sleeves of a white lab coat were visible. A doctor, was it? What happened to 'do no harm'?

Several minutes passed, but to the exhausted patient it felt like hours. Soon, his body felt nearly normal, and his brain was functioning again. With his now-functional brain, he was constructing a list of unpleasant things to call the doctor.

At last he was spun around to face the doctor, an elderly sort, with a sharp face that could have been chiseled out of stone. His cheekbones were sharp ridges that jutted out of his face, extremely disproportionate to his almost chubby body. His fingers were stubby and short, and he stood only about five foot six, as opposed to the patient's six feet.

"So, can you talk now?"

"Yes, and what the blazes was that all about?" The patient bottled up the swear words for now. They would come in handy later, when he wasn't in an all-too-revealing hospital gown.

The doctor grimaced. "They're always like this when they wake up. The anesthetic used on you slowed your entire system. If you don't move about, you'll slowly suffocate and die because your muscles aren't working. The last guy I left suffocate took ten minutes to resuscitate. Then the head surgeon got mad at me because she hates working overtime. Bitch."

Ignoring all this, the man tried to place himself. The only memory he could drag from his head was a violent blur of red, and strangely, the image of an eagle.

"Anyway, what do you remember?"

"Uh-nothing. What happened?"

"Very good question. Why did one of the Dominion's top Viking pilots suddenly vanish on a seek and destroy mission against rebels? Why did he reappear, unconscious and nearly dead, on the doorstep of the military hospital? Why was there a huge bloody gauge on the back of his head, and why did the surgery take seven hours? You tell me," the doctor grumbled. He rummaged around in his pockets and drew out a needle. "Gonna have to give you this to make you expel anything…leftover. If you throw up later, it's to be expected. Throw up in the bucket, please, not on the bed. The cleaning crew got fired, so us physicians have to do it now. Damned budget cuts. So much money goes to the military, and we still get mutalisks every week!"

The patient was now struggling with another problem while the doctor ranted about zerg-his identity. A sense of self would be nice, he thought. "I have…amnesia?"

"Of a kind. At first we thought the rebels might have neurally resocialized you, but we found no trace of an resoc procedure. Just brain damage. Luckily, you are in excellent physical condition. Your memories may be intermittent, but your language is still present, which is good." The doctor gave the patient the shot and tossed the needle carelessly aside. "If you're wondering what your name is, it was Johnson. A simple name, I must say."

"Johnson 'was' my name?"

"It might change, depending on how the memory test goes. Recent standard for amnesiacs. If you score below a certain amount, you are declared a new person, and are allowed to choose a new name. You'll love the test-most people go crazy trying to remember the past." The doctor chuckled, and made a few notes on the floppy screen by the hospital bed. "My advice? BS it. If you don't know, don't bother. Just plug in random answers. I'm talking too much, aren't I? Follow me."

Out the room and through a completely deserted hallway with several other closed doors was a large, empty room. It resembled an interrogation room, only instead of cops, there were people with white coats.

A female nurse who was more plastic than human gave 'Johnson' a huge smile. Her unnaturally white teeth literally glowed, a recent compound developed for artificial teeth.

"Well hello there, sir. Let's see how much of you is still you, shall we? If you wouldn't mind sitting down in that table over there, we'll get started. Don't worry, it's a simple procedure. Little Sammy didn't make it out last time, though." Still smiling with her not-teeth, she brought him a floppy screen. The malleable, rubbery square glowed faintly. She gave it a quick shake, and words fluttered across the screen, along with pictures of Johnson in various settings.

Replace with any memory. As he struggled to remember, he vaguely felt as though some higher being was staring down at him and laughing.

**Mar Sara**

"Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything. Paranoid protoss-what's next? A protoss casino?"

"If I knew what a casino was I might be insulted," the dark Templar grumbled. His eyes glowed as they scanned the tunnel walls. "Are you certain this is the correct path?"

"No, but it's the largest. I took that as a good sign."

"Callous, as all terrans are."

"Arrogant, as all protoss are," the ghost snapped. "Now be quiet. If there really is something, I want to be able to hear it."

"I speak with psionic waves-how can my talking possibly impair your hearing?"

"Oh shut up."


	3. Chapter 3: Plastic Surgery, Level 8000

"You scored a seventy eight percent. Good job!"

All Johnson could think of as the plastic lady beamed was that she could use a lot less makeup. She looked like she'd smashed her face in a paint can before showing up for work.

"You seem to be recalling some of your memories now, right?"

Johnson was indeed remembering things. His training in the military, his various missions in the Viking air superiority fighter. Everything was flooding back, but there were still massive gaping holes and blurred images. He kept looking at the faces of random people and remembering the incomplete face of a woman. A woman he just couldn't remember.

The test itself was also straining. It drew oh-so familiar images to the fore, and he struggled in vain to recall what he had named his Viking. (The answer was 'Venom'.) He recalled piloting the experimental Wyrm, and then the Viking. The test was suspiciously vague when it got to the section about his personal life. His name, age, and faction were all questioned, but virtually nothing else was asked. It focused greatly on his level of combat training.

"My head is going to explode here."

"Nobody's head has exploded yet, so don't worry. Now I need you to walk into that changing room there," the lady quipped as a portion of the wall slid away to reveal a small cavity, "and then come out for a physical test."

A pair of shorts and a T-Shirt were shoved into Johnson's hands. "I have to wear these?" Johnson grumbled, staring at the grey clothes. As with his past personality, he liked color.

"Yes, now please be quick," the smiling plastic woman replied, bumbling about to help some men bringing in what looked like a ladder.

When he got out of the room, the testing chamber had turned into a massive jungle gym. The ladder-like piece was now a sort monkey bar. Someone had brought in a bunch of weights. Bench press equipment was scattered in one corner of the room. As he watched on, a couple of men brought in a box full of pistols.

"What's all this?"

"You are an expert military fighter pilot," the plastic lady chirped. "We need to make sure you're combat ready as soon as possible!"

"Hey, hold on just a moment, lady. I just woke up with _amnesia _and you—"

"When you joined the military, your contract is very clear on the fact that as long as you are physically fit and mentally capable of continuing duty, you must return to duty as usual, unless medical personnel say otherwise. The surgeons have declared you stable and fit for duty. Now kindly begin the physical tests so we can gauge any muscle degeneration that might have occurred while you were unconscious."

Momentarily stunned by the outpour, Johnson walked meekly over to do some bench presses while the plastic lady and a couple of doctors stared at these absolutely fascinating screens with numbers on them.

"Oxygen levels are good," a man with a beard as large as his face grunted.

"Good. Check the overall responsiveness."

"Yes ma'am…subject is operating at ninety percent of base level in terms of muscle strength."

"Excellent. Finish up the tests and submit them. Get the bloody doctors to sign the release form so we can get him back into combat."

Giant-beard nodded, and lead Johnson to a reaction test, where he had to catch pieces of paper before they fell to the floor.

Plastic lady strode over to the computer terminal in one corner of the room. She smiled all the way, even though nobody was there to see her pretty implants. Most people wouldn't be impressed anyway, because why would you give up your real teeth when they were perfectly fine? Fashion. Duh.

The computer terminal flickered to life, creating a holographic screen.

"Damned low-budget computers," the lady hissed as the holographic screen flickered and sputtered for a few seconds. "Always the lowest bidder, even in hospitals where you really need quality tech."

The lady gently moved images around on-screen, going over the results of Johnson's test. She frowned when he scored exceedingly high in the personal family range, and the frown grew deeper when she saw that one of the test questions had asked about past girlfriends.

"Can't have that, can we now," she murmured, quickly highlighting and deleting the question, before typing in a note to herself to personally check the memory tests next time. "If he actually started remembering things, that would be a problem, wouldn't it?"

**Mar Sara:**

"Holy shit. It is _dark_ in here!" The ghost remarked to his companion.

"It is an ancient cavern created millennia ago, and has sat sealed for that amount of time. Yes, it is dark," the protoss replied dryly.

"Now see-if protoss were capable of sarcasm or humor, I would say that was sarcasm or humor. But I don't think you guys are capable of being sarcastic or laughing, so I'd better think of something else."

"Focus on our objective rather than whether or not my people are capable of terran humor."

The inky blackness was impenetrable. Even with the ghost's night visor, it was virtually impossible to see beyond a couple of feet. The walls were stone far too smooth to be natural. There was water here and there, but no plants or moss. Nothing alive, really.

The pair's footsteps echoed hollowly, suggesting that there were walls, but is was far too large to even begin to guess where the walls were.

"The Xel-Naga weren't giants, were they?" The ghost asked lightly.

"No, their physical form is actually quite similar to ours. I also wish you would not speak of them in past tense."

"A lot of them are dead, and they've vanished from the universe lately. They could all be dead for all you know."

"Be silent-I hear noises."

Then it came, an awful rush of hissing, rasping, and scraping sounds that bounced around the cavern. Rather suddenly, from deep inside the cave, a tremendous gust of wind blasted outwards towards the duo. Both were thrown off their feet and tossed to the floor. The horrible gale lasted for only a moment, but both were dragged back several meters. Not to mention it was somewhat painful to be shoved around by wind.

"What the fudge was that?"

"It could not have been a defense. It was a prelude to something, and that worries me." The Protoss took a wary step forward, and then another, but the wind was not triggered again. "Let us continue."

The Terran was absolutely serious now. "If you wish to continue, by all means, go ahead. I believe a source of light would be helpful, though." Once again he adopted the formal speech he preferred to use with the Protoss when negotiating or discussing serious things.

"How have you been walking thus far?"

"My suit has a night vision, which is normally quite effective, but here I can see no more than three feet ahead."

The Protoss seemed exasperated. It's impossible to tell when a Protoss is exasperated, owing to the lack of facial expressions, but the ghost was familiar with Protoss, and new he was being thought an idiot at the moment.

"What did I do wrong now?"

"You're a psionic! Surely you can sense your path and create an image in your head!"

"I am merely a Terran-seeing with my mind is not something I do daily. What I don't understand is why my suit lights fail to illuminate anything."

"You are usually quite intelligent. Has your mind been sucked into a black hole? It's fairly obvious some force exists over this place. Seeing with eyes is not an option."

"Well there isn't much I can do about it, so don't mind me while I bumble about like a fat, blind bug for a while."

The Protoss made a noncommittal noise and continued on, though more slowly this time. Farther in they walked, and over an hour passed. Tension and anxiety were reflected in the way the two held themselves, unnaturally straight and unyielding.

After the first hour passed, the Protoss was startled by a faint metallic whining that started up. He turned to see that the whining emanated from the ghost's suit. He was walking strangely, legs lifting almost comically before clumping down in a perfectly straight arc.

"Did something…break in your armor? Why are you walking so strangely?"

"No, I got tired, so I'm letting the servos do the work," the ghost said, still plodding along with the same awkward gait.

"What exactly is a 'servos', dare I ask?"

The Terran continued to walk, and the Protoss kept place while the slightly smug ghost replied.

"All Terran combat suits have mechanical gears in the joints that smooth over motion and add power to them, boosting speed and strength just a tiny bit. I built some into my suit that are strong enough to function completely independently, at the cost of additional drain to my suit's battery. In idiot-speak, the suit walks by itself, and I'm just riding in it!"

The Protoss shook his head sadly. "You are so lazy it is almost amusing."

"I am not _lazy._ I am anti-exertionist," the ghost replied smoothly.

"I do not think exertionist is even a word."

"What do you know? You're a Protoss! English isn't even your language! Exertionist is totally a word."

_"You shall not pass."_

AN: Gandalf! Is it you?


	4. Chapter 4: Welcome to the Jungle

AN: I have noticed that most of the protoss unit's 'annoyed quotes, as in repeatedly selected' insult the player. I guess because we're terrans…? Been mucking around in the galaxy editor too much. One of my favorite quotes is Mohandar's. "The two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity."

"_You shall not pass."_

The Ghost paused, and the Dark Templar hesitated as well. "You heard that, Dark Templar?"

"I did, Terran."

_"Leave or die. It is your decision."_

"Reveal yourself, creature!" The Dark Templar snapped.

The inky blackness was suddenly pierced by a sharp ray of light descending from the ceiling, which slowly coalesced into a solid glow. The spotlight shone down from a ceiling too far up to even see, and revealed at its center?

A protoss.

He was dressed oddly, in a dark manner different from even the Dark Templars'. He wore robes that were wrapped tight around him, and glowed green at the edges. While the Dark Templar had a rugged look about them, he has an almost wealthy look. The Protoss simply oozed smoothness.

"One of your kind, Templar. I'll let you deal with him," the Ghost said quietly. "Though I was not aware there were any Protoss left on the planet, and I like think I know a lot of things." He backed away a few meters, though continued to stare fixedly at the apparition.

The Dark Templar sensed something unusual about the Protoss standing before him, and felt unnerved. His nervousness stemmed from the strange figure before him, and the fact that his Terran companion seemed suspicious. The Ghost tended to know a lot of things, and an unknown to the Ghost was definitely reason for alarm.

"Adun Toridas, brother," The Templar said. "I come from Shakuras on a search."

_"This I know, and you should consider yourself fortunate I do not kill you now."_

The Dark Templar was taken aback by the hostility, and glanced at the Ghost for guidance. The Ghost merely shook his head and continued to watch.

"I…I mean you no harm. Who are you then, to have been on Mar Sara even after it was purified?"

_"Be silent. My actions are none of your concern, and most certainly you are trespassing."_

"You do not own the Xel-Naga's artifacts."

_"Neither do you, yet you come here to steal it. I safeguard them from thieves such as you."_

"Oh, now I recognize you. You're a Tal'darim Protoss," the Ghost growled, hefting his canister rifle and stepping forward. "I'll be doing the sector a favor by killing you, then."

_"That is your choice? Then die, intruders." _The Protoss flickered out of view, and the cavern became dark.

The Ghost unsheathed his psi-blade, and the Dark Templar did the same. "Perhaps I angered him."

"Do you think so, Terran? Do you really think so?"

The air seemed to thicken, and it became even darker, if that was even possible. The rock beneath their feet shook, and a sensation of hopelessness cascaded over the pair, causing both to simply halt. Black emotions swirled around in their minds, and despair clouded their thoughts.

The dark Templar was first to shake off the thoughts, stating angrily, "What warrior fights by tampering with his opponent's mind?"

The Terran shook it off quickly as well, just in time to see an explosion of light in front of his face. His mind went blank, and he collapsed.

"Terran-!" The Dark Templar bent down to examine him. He was alive.

The Dark Templar extended his mind and slashed into the dark, cutting deep into something.

_"Ah-! Bitter pain, but it will all be worth it in the end."_

The Dark Templar leapt aside, avoiding a fist that appeared out of the dark. The hand made a slashing motion, and a slash appeared on the templar's arm. The blade was invisible!

"What sort of…." The Dark Templar slashed, cutting something again, and he made a violent effort to continue cutting, ignoring multiple injuries that simply appeared on his skin. At last, he felt a sudden dead weight at the end of his blade, and drew back. The darkness lifted, and the cave was illuminated by a powerful glow, emanating from the ground. Its size was impressive, easily over a mile wide.

The Tal'darim lay on the ground. It was obvious he wasn't a fighter, based on how short the duel had been. Even against a blind opponent, he'd fallen in less than three minutes. He now lay twitching, bleeding from the huge gashes torn in his chest.

"Your fanatical ideals have led only to your death, brother."

_"Do…do not call me brother, for I pray you die before you leave this place. And-and I shall make that a reality!"_

The ground shook, and the walls emitted an ominous rumbling. Rocks began to fall, and a massive spear of rock fell and impaled the Tal'darim fanatic, who gave one final spasm, and lay still.

"Adun help us…." The Templar murmured, slinging the Terran over his shoulder. He made for the exit in a rush. Rocks continued to spear the ground all around him, but whenever he sensed one near him, he would dodge and continue on.

The exit was a large platform of stone, which he would have to climb up. Once on the platform, the strange energies that powered this place would return them immediately to the surface. Surprisingly, it was the Terran who had figured that out, but the Dark Templar was already quite used to occasionally being outstripped by the ghost. Now, though, the intelligent ghost was unconscious and useless. If they survived this, he would rub this into the ghost's face later on.

"Zerashk Gulida!" the Templar leaped over a pile of rubble, narrowly avoiding being impaled by another stalactite. He landed neatly on the platform and vanished.

Behind it all, in the rumbling cave, the Tal'darim protoss blinked, and turned weakly to stare up at the collapsing cave. He knew his enemies had escaped, and felt only disappointment. At last, his blood drained from him, and he died. Only silence filled the cave after that.

**Aiur**

"Alright Colonel Johnson, you have your orders. Carry them out and then get the hell of that planet. Trust me, you don't want to stay there too long. We've assigned you a personal adjutant in case you get lost or actually need information. And if you get lonely and start talking to it, we'll book you for a trip to the brain-poker's."

Johnson tested the controls, firing a couple of experimental rounds and swiveling to survey the terrain. Aiur was obviously a once lush, lively place, but now there were only scorch marks, creep, and dying plants. The squad stood in the midst of a thick forest to give them cover from the zerg. The trees grew fairly well, here, since the water was clean and the zerg left the region alone. Why would they bother?" There simply wasn't anything here. Just dirt and bushes.

The squadron was painfully small for the magnitude of the operation. Johnson piloted a Viking, currently in assault mode. With him were ten marines and a medic. Following behind them all was a single SCV and a siege tank. The SCV was currently carrying a large metal crate full of supplies. The mission was labeled as an easy, simple one. That couldn't be farther from the truth. They were to fight their way through the fallen cities of the Protoss and extract some materials and artifacts from an old Protoss structure.

"Why can't they give us more soldiers?" one of the marines groaned. "We're gonna die here, I just know it."

"Well it ain't gonna help us to sit here and whine. Let's just get it over with and go."

"Man, this is the only time I'd want the covert ops with us," another marine grunted. "And nobody likes them."

They began the slow, steady march through the forest. It was almost insanely humid, and the suit's temperature regulators failed to keep the heat out.

The viking's various motors whined in protest as they began to advance over a hill. Some of the marines swore as multiple times the loose dirt made someone tumble back down. It was more exhausting for the marines, but the entire squad felt the monotony press down on them. Hours passed, and only the rustle of trees was heard. Some people might enjoy the quiet setting, but it was hot, humid, and they were walking right into the zerg base.

The sky began to grow dark, and Johnson wondered idly if the Protoss could starve if it was cloudy. He knew they fed off light, and was mildly curious if they could feed on artificial light. Not that he'd ever find out while he was an Aiur. There were no Protoss on the Protoss homeworld. The irony made him smile for a moment.

"Rapid movement detected." The adjutant's voice made Johnson jump in his seat, and the entire Viking made a sort of violent spasm. "Movement appears to be from creatures of biological origin."

"Lock and load, boys," the tank pilot growled, powering up his weapons. "We might have company at last! I was starting to get bored over here!"

"Just starting?" the SCV pilot asked as he took cover. "Anyhow, you grunts have fun-just keep me out of it!"

The foliage rustled, and the adjutant bleeped out another warning. "Large number of organisms detected in vicinity. Squad is severely outnumbered. Retreat is advised."

"We ain't allowed to retreat, lady," Johnson murmured, adjusting his controls and aiming into the undergrowth.


End file.
